


heaven: when it rains, it pours

by yayame



Category: NU'EST
Genre: Angst, I don’t know. It’s trash. That’s all you need to know., Just angst, M/M, me trying to be poetic or some shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22097743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yayame/pseuds/yayame
Summary: based on “still hurting” as performed by Anna Kendrick in the movie adaptation (2014) of the musical, “The Last Five Years” (2001).
Relationships: Hwang Minhyun/Kim Jonghyun | JR
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	heaven: when it rains, it pours

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. I don’t know.   
> -insert shrug emoji-

minhyun is over and minhyun is gone. 

minhyun’s decided it’s time to move on. 

minhyun has new dreams he’s building upon. 

and I’m still hurting. 

It starts on a summer night; no,  _ they  _ start on a summer night when the air is too humid to be comfortable and ice cream cones melt between their fingers. It’s the type of summer night that poets write about, the type of summer night children laugh about, the type of summer night that adults reminisce about. 

He can still feel the softness of Minhyun’s lips, can still taste the sugary aftertaste of lemonade lingering in his mouth. 

_ “Jonghyun-ah.”  _ Minhyun whispers against him, one hand trailing up his spine to cup the back of his head, pulling him closer again.  _ “Jonghyun, I like you.”  _

The fireworks are going off in the night sky or maybe that’s the sound of his heart bursting in his ears. 

minhyun arrived at the end of the line.

minhyun’s convinced that the problems are mine. 

minhyun is probably feeling just fine. 

and I’m still hurting. 

Paris is for lovers. That’s what Minhyun tells him as they walk down the street from their cheap hotel they can barely afford as freshly graduated newlyweds. 

Paris is for us. That’s what Minhyun whispers in his ears at night when their bodies intertwine and all he can answer back are broken whines and breathless whimpers. 

Paris is for them. That’s what he thinks when they stand in front of the Eiffel Tower, too scared to climb the heights. That’s what he thinks when they tour the Louvre with nothing but a poorly translated museum map and free audio playing on their phone’s app.

what about lies, minhyun? 

what about things

that you swore to be true?

what about you, minhyun?

what about you?

He feels like a god. They feel like gods. Nothing is impossible. Nothing could hurt them. 

Every moment with Minhyun felt like he is climbing Mount Olympus. Every moment with Minhyun felt like heaven. Every moment with Minhyun is pure euphoria. Every moment with Minhyun is addicting and he isn’t sure he knew how to stop. 

Heaven is a place on earth. Heaven is a person on earth. Heaven is Minhyun. His heaven is his Minhyun. 

minhyun is sure something wonderful died. 

minhyun’s decides it’s his right to decide. 

minhyun’s got secrets he doesn’t confide. 

and I’m still hurting. 

Something was different. Something is different. 

There’s a lingering scent on Minhyun’s work shirts. 

There are texts on Minhyun’s phones that he’s not allowed to see. 

There are late nights that Minhyun won’t talk about. 

He tells him he’s being paranoid. He tells him he’s being insecure. He tells him he’s being irrational.

And because Minhyun is heaven, he believes him. Because Minhyun holds his entire life in the palm of his hand and he’d do anything to keep heaven with him. Because he hands Minhyun the knife so he can’t be mad when he’s left bleeding on the pavement. 

go and hide and run away. 

run away, run and find something better. 

go and ride the sun away. 

run away like it’s simple, 

like it’s right. 

He stops counting the days. He stops counting the nights. He stops counting the cracks in his heart. 

Minhyun faces the window in his sleep, back turned to him as silence envelopes them. 

He stares at the expanse of skin, fingers breaths away from touching him. He listens to Minhyun’s steady breathing and he wonders what he dreams about. He wonders if he dreams about  _ them  _ driving down to Busan, or maybe he dreams about  _ them  _ running down the aisle in their white suits, or maybe  _ they’ve  _ become nightmares. 

Just above the silhouette of Minhyun’s figure, he can see the frame of the window. He can see the Seoul skyline. He can see rain pouring over the city. He can see his heartbreaking. 

give me a day, minhyun.

bring back the lies,

hang them back on the wall. 

maybe I’d see 

how you could be

so certain that we

had no chance at all 

The apartment is cold and empty. What was once his haven from the rest of the world is now a reminder of everything he had. He stares at the photographs still hanging in their frames. He stares at the sheets worn and used. He stares at the ring left on the dining table. 

_ “Jonghyun-ah.”  _ Minhyun’s voice is weary and tired.  _ “Jonghyun, I can’t do this anymore.”  _

minhyun is over and where can I turn?

covered with scars I did nothing to earn. 

maybe there’s somewhere a lesson to learn. 

but that wouldn’t change the fact,

that wouldn’t speed the time, 

once the foundation’s cracked. 

and I’m 

still hurting. 

It ends on a winter morning; no,  _ they  _ end on a winter morning when the frost curls on the windows and the wind whips at them angrily. It’s the type of winter morning that poets write about, the type of winter morning when children beg their parents for hot chocolate, the type of winter morning when adults run to their bus stop in layers and knitted scarves. 

He can’t remember the last time Minhyun told him he loved him. He can’t remember the last time that Minhyun kissed him. He can’t remember the last time that heaven smiled down on him. He can’t remember. 


End file.
